


You're Not Invincible

by AfricanDaisy



Category: Supernatural
Genre: M/M, Possible Destiel - Freeform, Punishment, Spanking, Strapping, Submissive Castiel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-15
Updated: 2014-07-15
Packaged: 2018-02-08 23:54:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,142
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1960992
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AfricanDaisy/pseuds/AfricanDaisy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Castiel disobeys an order and lands himself on the wrong side of Dean's temper. With no choice but to face the consequences of his actions, he learns something new about disobedience and how it can be dealt with down on Earth.</p>
            </blockquote>





	You're Not Invincible

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first foray into Supernatural fanfiction, and possibly my last?? Although I'm a big fan of the show, my usual writing is LOTR-related so this is quite out of my comfort zone. I do ship Destiel and I had that in mind when I wrote this, but I think the scene is fairly ambiguous and doesn't have to be taken as Destiel if the reader would prefer otherwise. However you take it, I hope you enjoy!

Castiel didn’t like it when Dean called him a child. Strangely, he didn’t mind half so much when Dean called him a baby, because he knew that was just teasing. There was still much that the angel had to learn about human feelings and the things humans did that were considered perfectly normal, and about humanity in general, but teasing was something that he did know about. He hadn’t had to be taught about it after his descent from Heaven, because certain angels enjoyed teasing, too. Gabriel, for one, had suggested to a very young and small Castiel that he be catapulted out of Heaven to help teach him to fly. When Castiel’s wings had drooped forlornly at that, Gabriel had enfolded him in his own big, golden wings, and soothed the fledgling, promising that he was only teasing and _of course_ he would never catapult him anywhere. Not unless he consented, anyway. The same couldn’t be said for Uriel and Zachariah, though. It had amused them to catapult the little angel out of Heaven, only to catch him at some point during his long fall and take him right back up to go all over again. Balthazar had told Gabriel, and the archangel had been wrathful and glorious. Castiel still shivered to remember that. What they had done, Gabriel had quietly assured him, was _not_ teasing.

 

So, yes, Castiel more or less understood the art of teasing even though in some ways it was just as complex as the pizza man and the babysitter. It could be harmless and even affectionate, and that was why he didn’t mind when Dean called him a baby in a trench coat or insinuated that he was whining like a baby. But when ‘baby’ became ‘child’…that was different. If Dean called him a child, Dean was angry. Angry with _him._ That was known. And being called a child, knowing that he had angered the hunter so greatly, made Castiel lower his gaze and shift from one foot to the other, before stoically meeting Dean’s eyes and trying not to let on how upset he was. No response was his preferred way of dealing with the situation; silence seemed to pass for agreement, and agreement, real or perceived, soothed Dean’s temper. Today, Castiel didn’t feel inclined towards silence.

 

“You call me a child, but I am not,” he mumbled.

 

“You’re a damn child, Cas!” Dean snapped, as if repeating it would make the angel suddenly agree that yes, of course that was right. “I told you not to go off on your own, and what did you do? You went off on your own! Do I have to hold your hand? Put a friggin’ leash on you? We don’t know what we’re fighting yet, man! This thing is killing angels all over the place. Your brothers and sisters. You forget that? You forget that that makes _you_ a target?”

 

They were valid points, and Castiel briefly raised his hands to placate Dean and try to stop his emerald gaze burning so fiercely. “I would not be killed. We’re starting to understand this thing’s…ah...M.O, yes? You know, Latin is a very beautiful language. It really doesn’t take much time to use the proper words. You don’t need to shorten…” Castiel faltered as Dean took an angry step in his direction. “Well, anyway, we _are_ starting to understand its _modus operandi_. I was quite safe.”

 

“Oh, and the child who’s starting to understand crossing the road, he’s _quite safe_ when he runs out into traffic?” Dean demanded with a sneer.

 

“I knew to take care,” Castiel protested, and he could feel his own anger starting to surface. “I wasn’t going to die. I’m not going to die, Dean!”

 

Dean clenched his fist and started to raise it, but he slowly lowered it back to his side when his eyes fell on something of Bobby’s lying abandoned on the kitchen counter; a worn leather strap that the old hunter had been repairing. “Take off your coat, Cas,” he ground out.

 

“My…okay, Dean.” It was a peculiar order, but Castiel tried to obey even peculiar orders as often as he could so that when he chose disobedience, his history of obedience might just stand him in good stead. He removed his beige trench coat and dutifully held it out. “Here. Here is my coat.”

 

With a brief nod, Dean took the coat and tossed it over the back of a rickety chair before gripping Castiel’s shoulder and pushing him down over the kitchen table. He snatched up the strap and brought it down across the seat of the angel’s dark trousers. “ _You are not invincible_!” Dean lectured, punctuating each emphasised word with a hard stroke of the leather. “ _You can die._ And _if_ you do, I will _drag_ your sorry ass _right back_ and give you to Bobby, and _he_ will make this seem like a _gentle_ warm-up. _Do you understand_?”

 

“Yes,” Castiel whispered promptly.

 

Dean threw the strap aside and strode to the window, staring out of the dusty pane with his arms folded tightly over his chest. Behind him, he couldn’t hear anything. He expected Castiel to wing himself away, but when he glanced over his shoulder, the angel was standing quietly in the middle of the kitchen, coat back on, tie as untidy as ever, and hands clasped before him. Unshed tears swam in dark blue eyes. “Cas,” Dean exhaled. “Cas, you-

 

“I’m not supposed to talk about it,” Castiel said quietly. “Like the pizza man.”

 

Dean’s lips twitched in a reluctant smile, and he raised a hand to his mouth as though rubbing away his amusement. “You can talk about this,” he said. “This is different. You know why I did it, right?”

 

“You were angry.” Castiel’s voice was solemn, and despite the tears in his eyes, steady. “So it is not of import.”

 

“Yes, it is of import…it is _important_ ,” Dean corrected himself with a roll of his eyes. “Yeah, I was angry. You got that right. I get pissed when you pull crap like that. But you know why I get pissed? Because you’re family, Cas. I’ve lost family, and I’m sure as hell not losing any more. You and Sam and Bobby, you’re all I got. And I’m not asking a lot from you, man. Stay alive and stay safe. Can you do that?”

 

Castiel wanted to point out that he was still very much alive, but he could see the strap in his peripheral vision and he didn’t want to upset Dean again. Instead he just nodded quietly and looked down. “Yes. I can do that, Dean.”

 

“All right. Great. Good. How about I go get us some food?” Dean offered.

 

“Burgers?” Castiel suggested softly, a hint of hope in his voice.

 

Dean laughed. “Yeah. Burgers.”


End file.
